


Salt Lamp

by ashleyerwinner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Drug Use, Endverse, M/M, The Darkness - Freeform, The End, mentions of Sam - Freeform, mentions of lucifer, spn s11 speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5001772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleyerwinner/pseuds/ashleyerwinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The fuck is that?” He says, and Cas meets his gaze with bloodshot, glazed eyes.</p><p>“It’s a salt lamp.” He holds it up so Dean can see it.</p><p>“It looks like a butt plug."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt Lamp

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written in a really long time so i'm trying to get back into it xoxox enjoy!

When Dean kills Death, The Darkness awakens, bringing to life something Dean realizes now was too familiar to be just a coincidence. The animalistic nature of the people affected, Dean sees now they were exactly what he had seen when that dick angel Zachariah showed him in a future-life. A life he’d thought he’d avoided.

Apparently not.

There were so many signs. Maybe he’d seen them while they were happening – maybe he’d been in denial.

He’s not anymore.

Cas’ grace is the first to go. It fades from him like the life from a dying animal; leaves him empty and searching. He finds himself alive in drugs, in alcohol.

The Croats infect the population. Lucifer comes out of the cage.

He possesses Sam, and then it’s over.

For the most part, Dean feels like he’s handled this conglomeration of events as well as he could. He locked up all of those emotions far away, put on a cold, stern face, and dealt with it. He became a leader.

But that façade is crumbling. For so long, Dean’s felt empty. His emotions are bubbling at the brim, ready to spill over. It feels dangerous. It feels like he needs to fight, or fuck, or…

He just needs.

He’s sitting on the edge of the monstrosity he calls a bed (God, he misses memory foam), cleaning his gun, when the familiar scent of pot wafts in.

“Hey, Cas,” he says without looking up, and Cas hums in return. It’s not unlike the fallen angel to forgo talking after a long day of doing nothing but getting high, but there’s a hint of something else – something more _Cas_ then the drugs and sex, something of a curiosity that used to be something Dean loved about him. It startles him enough that he stops to turn around to greet him properly. He’s holding an orangey bulbous _thing_ , and it, well…

“The fuck is that?” He says, and Cas meets his gaze with bloodshot, glazed eyes.

“It’s a salt lamp.” He holds it up so Dean can see it.

“It looks like a butt plug,” he says, walking towards to get a better look at it. Cas chuckles, low and throaty, and shrugs.

“I imagine this would be rather painful to shove up that orifice.” He says, deadpan, but there’s a smile on his face that Dean feels absurdly happy that he put there.

“You know we don’t have electricity to actually _use_ that thing, right?” Dean kicks himself as the smile fades from his friend’s face. Cas shrugs and sighs out a response.

“I’ll make a makeshift outlet out of a potato if I really need to use it. I just like it.” He traces a dirt-smudged finger along the side of it and Dean watches, transfixed. There was a time when this could have been something to think about later that night, or in the shower, but the time for what he and Cas might’ve had was over now.

“So, this is what you did today?” He says, his tone much harsher than intended. Cas blinks, hard, but doesn’t seem too shocked that Dean’s yelling at him already.  He opens his mouth like he’s about to respond, but Dean’s already hit the end of his fuse. “Can’t even fuckin’ go a day without wasting it, gettin’ high and fuckin’ around.” Cas doesn’t bother to answer his outburst.

“The salt is from the Himalayas,” he explains, focusing on the lamp, ignoring Dean completely. Dean knows it’s a tactic, that this is Cas’ way to fight him. To piss him off so he yells and wakes the neighborhood so he can get high with them and laugh behind Dean’s back the next day. The worst thing about it is how well it works.

“Where are you even getting all the drugs at this point, man? Was it just pot today, or was it a cocktail of your favorite narcotics?” Cas barely flinches at the words. It pisses him off more.

“However, this piece is likely from Bed, Bath & Beyond,” Cas says, grinning at his own joke. Dean takes two long strides over to where Cas is standing, grabs the lamp from his hands, and wails the thing as hard as he can at the cabin wall. The resounding thud and sound of shattered lamp gives him a moment of satisfaction.

“Fuck you, and your lamp!” Dean explodes. Cas stares at the shattered pieces of orange for a moment, before calmly turning to him again.

“It’ll take me weeks to find another one of those,” is all he says, resigned and quiet. He sighs, and sits down on bed. The cabin is silent for a minute, and then Cas speaks again.

“What happened today?” He asks, his eyes meeting Dean’s, more somber and sober than before. Dean can’t stand to see the understanding in his face.

“What happened _today_? Jesus, fuck, Cas! _Today_?!” Cas’ eyes flit to the floor before steadying on Dean again, sad and focused. “Every fuckin’ day is like the day before, man.” He hates the way his voice is quavering. “People _die_ ,” Cas blinks. “Sam’s _gone_ ,” Cas’s gaze lowers from his face. “And _you,_ man. You’re killin’ yourself and I gotta watch the only thing I have fuckin’ die a little more every day.” He hates the tears escaping, spilling over his eyelids and down his cheek. He hates the pity he sees in Cas’ face when he looks up again.

“Things are different, now, Dean. The world’s gone to hell in a handbasket.” He says, as simple as day, and there’s a quiet sadness that follows before he speaks again. “I can assure you, for as long as you live, I will be here with you.”

“You can’t fuckin’ promise me that.” Dean says through his clenched teeth. There’s another moment of poignant silence that falls between them before Cas stands up again, and takes a step closer to him to close the distance.

“I can promise you that,” he says, and places a calloused hand on the side of his face, cradling it, wiping a stray tear from Dean’s cheek. “I love you, Dean Winchester, and I will not leave you in this world alone.” Dean looks up, and only sees the angel he used to know. He’s been alone for ages now, it seems, though. He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t have to say the words catching on his tongue. Cas knows. “I’m fucked up, Dean. The world is fucked up. But we can try harder. _I_ can try harder.” There’s a sincerity to the words that Dean feels in his gut. It gives him more hope than he’s had in a long time. He nods.  

“We can try harder,” he affirms, and Cas’ hand slides down his face as he looks around the mess of the room.

“And you’ll find me another salt lamp on your next run.” He says solemnly, kicking a piece of shattered salt across the room.

For the first time in months, Dean truly laughs.


End file.
